Probability Space (26 page)

“A message that caused the other craft to be captured, right? We know that much,” Kaufman said loudly. He stood behind Magdalena, nodding at Capelo. He didn’t really expect this crude ruse to work: Capelo Was too insensitive and Magdalena too sharp. But Kaufman was wrong. Something—maybe empathy over a missing child—boosted Capelo’s sensitivity. And unwillingness to know dulled Magdalena’s. It was a clear indicator of her delusions.

“Yes,” Capelo said, “my message caused the other craft to be captured. But they didn’t put the occupants here with me. They must have taken them … somewhere else.”

Magdalena’s body sagged in disappointment. “Do you have any idea where? Any idea at all?”

“No.” Capelo’s eyes were miserable with sympathy.

“Then we have to leave instantly. I need to reach my contacts in Caligula space, before Pierce replaces them all. Come with me to the shuttle, Ethan. Dr. Capelo, thanks for nothing.” She swept out.

Capelo said to Kaufman, “What the hell—”

“Tell you later. But she’s right, we have to leave instantly, and we need her contacts. Do you know who she is?”

“No.”

“Magdalena.”

“I still don’t know who she is,” Capelo said, and Kaufman realized yet again how far removed the mental stores of physicists were from those of everybody else.

“Never mind. Come on, Tom.”

Capelo said flatly, “Her son’s dead.”

“I know. Let’s
go
.”

“I’m coming. Although if you’ve really sent the artifact back down, and if Pierce has no idea where it is, there’s probably less hurry than you think. How long ago was this coup?”

“About a week.”

“Well, think, Lyle. If any of Stefanak’s men who knew the artifact’s location, and mine, were still alive, they’d probably have been here by now to do something. If Pierce is just looking at random, it could be months before he catches a clue. I mean, how could he know where Stefanak was likely to stash the thing, given the entire tunnel system?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t have your faith in randomness, either.”

“Not randomness, Lyle. Probability. That’s my field, remember? My touchstone, my livelihood, my curse, my—”

Alarms sounded all over the ship.

“What is it?” Marbet said. “Lyle?”

Kaufman had already run to Capelo’s terminal, keyed in the standard codes connecting officers to bridge information from anywhere on the ship.

“Lyle?”

“We’re under attack,” Kaufman said. “Human ships. Four of them, coming through from Caligula space.

“Pierce’s force is here.”

*   *   *

Magdalena heard the alarms. They pulled her out of despair, and she was obliquely grateful.

Laslo hadn’t been with Capelo. Not ever. She had wasted weeks tracing him and his princess daughter, all for nothing. She was no closer to finding where that bastard Stefanak had actually imprisoned Laslo. She’d have to start all over again.

The important thing was to use her Caligula System contacts as soon as possible. Major Hofsetter, in charge of space tunnel traffic, had passed her through the Tunnel #438 to World in the first place; his commander hadn’t even known about it. Of course, Hofsetter, that fat ugly profiteer, had hated doing it. But Magdalena had known exactly how Nate Hofsetter was making millions off the war on the black market—was, in fact, making them with the cooperation of one of Magdalena’s dummy corporations—and so he hadn’t had much choice.

Hofsetter wasn’t among the navy that Pierce would have replaced. Neither Pierce nor Hofsetter knew she knew it, but a percentage of Hofsetter’s profiteering gains went back to Pierce. Hofsetter was safe. The Caligula commander, on the other hand, General Donnor, was probably already dead. A loyal Stefanak soldier. Well, good riddance to her. Magdalena had always found it a pain in the ass to work around the bitch.

Hofsetter wouldn’t know where Laslo was, but if she pressured hard enough, he might know someone somewhere with access to Special Project information. She’d have to press pretty hard. It would cost her.

Damn Laslo! Children never understood the trouble they caused their parents. Laslo was no different from the rest. When she found him, they’d have a major reckoning. When she found him … when she found him … Capelo had said …

For just a moment, her certainty almost cracked. Then the alarms sounded.

Alarms! They were under attack. Pierce’s forces from Caligula, oh, God. Well, it just meant she had to start negotiations earlier. Hofsetter might be with them. If not, she’d be able to get to him.

The others, however, Kaufman and Grant and Capelo and McChesney, were dead men walking.

Magdalena ran along the corridor to the conference room, alarms sounding in her ears. Rory and Kendai ran beside her. She burst in, and Kaufman was still there. Capelo had gone, probably, with McChesney. Now that she thought about it, Magdalena could see that Capelo would be all right. Pierce would want to exhibit him, the great physicist abducted by Stefanak but rescued by Pierce’s heroic troops as they restored order to the galaxy.

She said rapidly to Kaufman, “Get up on the bridge with Capelo, you idiot. That’s your only chance. If he protects you, if he threatens to tell the press how you were murdered by Pierce’s troops, then they won’t kill you. They can’t. Get up there!”

“I was coming to look for you,” Kaufman said. “We’re not going to play it that way, Magdalena. Tom and Marbet are in hiding. I don’t want you to tell anyone they were ever aboard. Please.”

“Not tell—”

“You don’t have anything to gain from telling them that Tom and Marbet are here. Nothing. And they won’t give you any truth drugs, will they? Not yet. They already know why you’re here.”

She suddenly remembered that the Faraday cage was still up in this room. Nothing was being recorded or detected.

“Kaufman, you’re a moron. They’ll give you a Pandya Dose, not to mention McChesney and Chand.”

“Not if they think I’m just another sailor on this ship.”

“They’ll check the ship’s roster.”

“Maybe. In that case, they’ll uncover me. But I think they’re mostly interested in the artifact. Once they have it, they may just leave with it. I don’t think Pierce is planning on warehousing it here the way Stefanak did.”

Of course he wasn’t. Magdalena said, “McChesney and Chand—”

“Can’t tell them anything.” His face didn’t change; he was a soldier. But Magdalena understood what he meant. Chand assumed she would be leaving too publicly to take him with her. Ethan McChesney and Prabir Chand were already dead.

She said harshly, “Ethan wasn’t alive anymore anyway.”

“No,” Kaufman agreed. “The moral center of his universe collapsed.”

“Some people hinge their entire universe on one thing, and when that goes, they crumple,” Magdalena said with scorn. “Weaklings.”

Kaufman was watching her very closely. Something moved behind his eyes. Magdalena didn’t like it.

“All right, Lyle. I’ll go along with your desperate scheme. As you point out, I don’t have anything to gain by turning you in. So I never saw you or Capelo or our famous redheaded Sensitive. Good luck.”

She turned and strode out, toward the bridge. That’s where the takeover would be. She had work to do. She had to explain why the artifact was now streaking toward the planet in her ship. (“McChesney commandeered it.”) She had to explain why she was in the World system in the first place (“Business interests”—embarrassing details furnished if pressed). She had, most of all, to start a second search for Laslo.

Despite herself, Magdalena felt a rush throughout her entire body. Maneuvering, plotting, trumping the opposition. This was what she did best. She was back in the game.

TWENTY-ONE

ABOARD THE
MURASAKI

A
fter Kaufman had secured Magdalena’s cooperation—to the extent anything connected with her could be “secure”—he moved swiftly to ship’s laundry. McChesney had given him the access code. Inside, ‘bots busily cleaned clothing and bedding, unaware and uncaring that the ship was under attack. If the
Murasaki
were blown up, it would be with clean uniforms for all hands.

Kaufman put on the uniform of a seaman first class. This crew had been cooped up together for two years and knew each other all too well. But Commander Chand had apprised his officers of the situation, and they would order the crew to say nothing. It had been Chand’s last order.

Don’t think about Chand or McChesney. Concentrate. Kaufman knew he didn’t look like crew, didn’t carry himself like crew. This would require careful and constant effort.

He ran to the lower deck battle station. The four crew looked at him distrustfully, but they reconfigured for him and no one said anything. They’d been told he was coming. Kaufman grabbed battle armor from station stowage and pulled it on. It had been a long time since he had supervised battle stations. He thought he remembered what to do, which was good because the crew was just waiting for him to make a mistake. He needed them on his side.

“Call me ‘Armbruster’ if you have to call me anything at all. And I’ll remember this afterward. Remember it for all of you.”

Their faces cleared. One of them, bolder than the others, said, “Sir, are we—”

“‘Armbruster!’ Seaman first class!”

“Sorry, sir … Armbruster. Are we going to surrender?”

“Yes. Battle stations are just a precaution.”

“But these are SADN ships coming through,” another said. “I don’t get it!”

Of course they didn’t. They’d been out of contact for two years, and they never knew the artifact had even been aboard. Kaufman was willing to trade chain-of-command for survival.

“There’s been a revolution in the Solar System,” he said, rapid and low. “General Stefanak is dead, and—”

Someone gasped.

“—and Admiral Pierce is in power. These are Pierce’s troops, securing the
Murasaki
by whatever means necessary. However, I don’t think they’re going to fire on us.”
I hope
. “Battle stations are just precautions. Now, please, no more talking.”

“Just one more question, s … Armbruster. After the surrender, are we going home?”

“Probably.” Crew were crew. To most of them, it didn’t matter who was supreme commander, not as much as it mattered whether they got leave. Kaufman understood. The Fallers should be the enemy anyway, not other humans.

The alarms suddenly ceased.

“All crew on parade deck,” the system said loudly. “No exceptions. Stow battle gear first.”

“Even the engine-room guys,” a seaman said. “Jesus Planetary Christ.”

The “parade deck,” standard on all war ships, was a bare open room used for anything that required full assembly of crew and officers. For its intended use, it was cramped. Between such assemblies it was used for receiving dignitaries, showing holomovies, anything else that happened to come up. Kaufman squeezed in among the crewmen in proper formation, stooping his shoulders a little and keeping his head slightly down. From the way the crew glanced at the MPs, Kaufman guessed the MPs were off whatever warship was now docked against the
Murasaki
. The MPs were conspicuously armed.

When everyone was assembled, the screen on one wall brightened to show the bridge. A commander stood there, in full dress uniform, flanked by strange officers. Kaufman saw no sign of Magdalena.

“Crew of the
Murasaki
, this is Commander Blauman. I am now in command of the
Murasaki
, by order of the Solar Alliance Defense Navy. Commander Chand and Colonel McChesney have been relieved of command, having been discovered to be traitors to the war effort. They are now on their way to the Solar System for court martial.”

Kaufman felt the crew stir around him in surprise.

“I know this will be a shock to you, having spent two years aboard this ship with no communication from beyond the tunnel. Since that time, humanity was fortunate in having undergone a revival of the war effort. The traitors who have not been willing to advance that effort have been eliminated, including the traitor and coward General Stefanak. Under Admiral Pierce’s Freedom Army, the war against the Fallers will be fought with all the concentration and effort the SADC is capable of, so that we can have as speedy a victory as possible, and our home system and colonies will once more be safe.”

Someone cheered and a few seaman took it up, raggedly. Most looked dazed.

“You crew have done fine duty without leave for a long time, making a valuable contribution to the war effort. In view of that, the crew of the
Murasaki
will be placed in rapid leave rotation, replaced by crew from Caligula Station, and reposted to Solar System defense. I expect all of you to be back home within two weeks.”

This time the cheer was hearty and genuine. Seamen glanced jubilantly at each other. Kaufman saw the woman in front of him do a little clogging dance with her feet, her body still at attention.

“For now, I ask each of you to resume normal duty. The
Murasaki
officers are also on leave rotation, and some of them will be relieved of duty today. Your new section officers will assemble each section to discuss the rotation.’ Dismissed.” The screen blanked.

The seamen broke into capers and cheers and horseplay. Only a few looked thoughtful or frowning, pondering the larger implications of this hasty change of command. Most were simply thrilled to be going home. Kaufman left inconspicuously with a chattering group. In the corridor, he faded back until he was alone, then used the codes McChesney had given him to enter the life-support housing.

It was the best place for concealment. Fully automated, its operations were usually checked only by external monitors, unless those revealed a problem. Kaufman was about to take the most important action of his entire life. Life support. Yes. Nice joke. Please let it not be black humor.

He slipped through the door and quietly e-locked it behind him.

TWENTY-TWO

ABOARD THE
MURASAKI

T
he life-support housing was a jumble of machines, ducts, storage crates, sealed vats, and damaged ’bots. Here air and water were cleansed for most of the ship. Kaufman ducked under huge low pipes, maneuvered around whirring sealed machinery. In a back corner Capelo and Marbet sat on the deck with their backs against the bulkhead, Marbet hugging her knees.